Offline Meeting
by Musique et Amour
Summary: Sometimes it's best to truly know the person on the other side of the screen before meeting them, especially in the World of Darkness. Meuric again tests human nature and their ultimate decisions.
1. The Beginning

_As I've said before ...this is NOT Phantom. This is the World of Darkness. The main character, Meuric, is inhuman. You'll be hard pressed to find any redeeming human qualities. He isn't cruel for the sake of being cruel, or for pleasure. It's all for psychology, and psychoanalysis, in which he has a cold, cynical and detached interest. _

This is one of six; also, please observe the rating. Thanks!

_Again athanks to my beta; SunandShadows.__

* * *

"So. When will I get to see you?" _

Tauntingly the cursor blinked upon the screen. My fingers were frozen. _That _question again. While I wanted to answer, I was afraid. How long had I known this man? This charming person upon the other end of the computer? Sometimes it seemed the other side of the world. Perhaps it was time for this meeting to come true. For the past six months I have known him over the Internet. Pictures swapped, numbers called. Many a night we've spent talking until near dawn, then his words "I have to sleep" leaving a sinking feeling in my stomach. How I hated those four words. It was time.

"How about this week?" I typed, and waited with bated breath for his next line. I was rewarded with the tubular chime of the instant message screen as the words popped up:

_"How about we meet somewhere? A surprise meeting. You know of The Devils Rim?" _

Did I ever! I blinked slightly. Had he been to my city before, without my knowing about it? Was he here now? I had to wipe my hands upon the cloth of my nightclothes to dry them again before my nails tapped over the keys.

"In the North End? Boston? I know where that is. I used to go there every other weekend."

A pause. A chime. _"Excellent! How about July 3rd, then? Not too long after sunset. Lets say… eight-ish." _

I had to laugh. What a perfect day. "My birthday? How sweet." Truly it didn't faze me any that it was Independence Day weekend. I lost the urge to see Black Cats and Snakes when I was ten years old. "We'll meet then. I'm curious as to how my new lover will be in person." I couldn't help but grin. I recalled often coming to a dizzying climax to the growled tone of his voice urging me on. It almost made me shudder to think I was going to hear it in person. My online and phone lover knew how to talk dirty and I loved it.

_"LOL Lover, hm? We'll see, darlin'. We'll see. Maybe I'll steal you away for the full weekend and we'll make some of our own fireworks." _

"Tease."

_"Mm... And then some. Until tomorrow, babe. Rest well." _

It was interesting how we met. I had always said I would never fall into an online relationship. That the men over the Internet were all fat and balding with hair sprouting in places that was not genetically possible. Something about him, though… Something drew me to him. Perhaps because he was a different nationality. Romanian. Or his strange, yet interesting name: Meuric. I could not figure out _why_ for the life of me, but I knew I wanted him. Not only as a lover; as I got to know him, he became much more: a friend, a confidant.

It took only a moment to search for the picture of him that I had stored away. Double clicking upon it his image was brought up, half filling my screen. I smiled. He was a handsome man. More so than anyone I have ever seen before. He had what my mother would call 'kissable lips'. His build was that of a swimmer: broad shoulders, tapered waist, not too muscular, yet not skinny. And his hands… Dear Lord, I had always wondered how they would feel upon my body. This next day or so was going to be murder. Idly I wondered if I had enough D cells to spare.

The Devils Rim is a club for those who have specific tastes. Specifically, the desire to dominate, or be dominated, and occasionally both. It is well done, not seedy like some of the clubs in other places across the world, but classy. The best of "the life" are drawn to it, to taste its textures slowly, night after night. I was among them that last eve… roaming the catacomb hallways, watching the freaks, the beasts, and the beauties in their indulgence of self. It is a basic need they each fulfill, if in a way known only to themselves, and if they are lucky, their partners.

This was where we were to meet. Thankfully, the week had passed quickly, uneventfully. There was only one night to go, and I was so anxious that I had to go out. I traveled the throng that night, the night I believed I would remember forever. My gaze searching, always roaming, looking for that familiar face.

I passed a strikingly handsome man dressed in an expensive, tailored suit. At the moment I stepped past him he was hung in suspension by silk ropes, crying like a babe, begging to be touched by a rather plain-looking woman wearing a leather brassiere. A dramatic looking blonde with oversized tits stood in a corner, and a beautiful raven-headed woman knelt before her, licking beneath the edges of her skirt, it appeared, her inky curls wound in slender fingers, delicate, harsh. The mingled tan and cream of their skin seemed starkly impressive. I smiled. Turning a corner, I skirted around a few men who wore black suits of some quality, vicious looking whips coiled into their manicured hands. One of them reached out for me without a second thought, and though I smiled, I evaded his touch, and he did not pursue it.

Each of the main rooms had a theme of sorts, round and without the need of corners to hide in. Draped in velvet or black silk, white cotton, or stone masonry along the walls. Every scent you can imagine, and some of those which you cannot unless you have been to the Rim, with its careful ambiance. It is the only carefully done thing within the club. I am willing to bet that everything else operates on pure instinct. I have taken friends of mine to this club of clubs, and watched the tame release before a hundred eyes, and never look back. Wild women in tight leather succumb and in the next scene they wear pink satin thongs and carry drinks on their knees. Nothing is more or less real than when the Devil has you. The devil had me this night, and I was looking for his son. That was how I saw Meuric sometimes. A fallen angel saying the right things to get a Godly creature to descend with him. How happily I would accompany him to that hell.

Settling on one of the long, thick couches that seemed everywhere, I lifted my heels and turned about to lie out on its softness. That's one great thing about the Rim; no one cares if your posture is anything more than enticing. I could feel the eyes. The stares of passion or lust, curiosity or tentative submission, roaming over my length, lean, dark hair fanning out over pale skin. The black silk shift not truly telling the tale. Was I a Domme, looking for a puppy boy? A sub, seeking a night of chains in the dungeons beneath the main rooms? Everyone has a story. Some of us have two.

With an air of indifference, though I was innately interested, I watched the myriad of scenes being played out around me. I almost laughed outright as the man I had glimpsed earlier in the hallway came by on his knees, led by his tie, which was all he had left on of that exquisite suit; his length half-swollen and hanging between his thighs uselessly as he whimpered. He was most likely a powerful man in his life beyond the arched doorway of the Rim. Here he was slave. So should he be. Here, people were what gave them the most. Not necessarily pleasure. It is not strictly about pleasure, you know. But there are voids within us all that ache to be filled. The people of the Devil's Rim fill those aches nightly, and create new ones in their wake. All in all, it is enticing and erotic, addictive if you are not careful. Better than any designer drug because of the endless variation.

Rather lost in my thoughts, I stretched suddenly, lifting my arms and letting the taut muscles come to a softer hue, and much to my surprise, I found my hands caught, beyond the periphery of my view, above my head as I lie there on the couch. I let the grip tighten about my wrists and did not move beyond the slow rise and fall of even breath.

"Aren't you going to struggle?" His voice was neither deep nor light, common, but with a timbre that seemed smooth, as if he might have been a singer at one point in his life.

"No," I said. "What point is there in struggling? You obviously have me right where you want me."

"True," came his reply, "but there is nothing more exquisite than a woman when she struggles, when she fights against her nature in my hands."

His fingertips slipped along my jaw. I still could not see him, but his touch was sensuous, probing beneath the shelf of my chin and against the pulse at my throat, and then without a single, uttered warning, squeezing, cutting off my air. I struggled then, anger rising up within me, welling up from the very pit of my being, and I fought that touch, his laughter brought me to stillness.

"Good. _Very_ good… See…? You are exquisite. I knew it the moment I saw you lying here."

Breath! I could breathe once more, his fingers once more softly rubbing over my flesh, gentle circles played along the column of my throat and neck, I could feel the warmth of his breath, quicken against my hair. I started to sit up, indignant, and found he still hand my hands most effectively pinned above me. I tried to turn my head, to see this assailant, and saw nothing.

"Ah-ah-ah." I froze in place. "I did not tell you that you could look at me, little Dominya." My heart leapt into my throat and I coughed. Dominya was my online name. It was him. It could be no other. I believe my lashes fell.

"Bastard."

"And then some." An affirmation that he had just begun, I knew it well. His fingers wove their way into the thickness of my hair, stroking it so lightly it made me shiver, and then lifted me, by the very roots themselves. The hard tug sending the shudder to my toes, he drug me from the couch, still on my back, my heels hit the floor, and I struggled to my feet.

I could feel myself against the denim pants he wore, the back of my head drawn to their fly, both of his hands now holding me bent so far backwards that I continuously lost my balance and slipped, the high-heeled shoes I wore scraping against the stone floor. Finally I understood and stilled, letting him catch me against his feet, and hanging from his fingertips, he pulled me up so gently to my own, setting me back against his chest, before him. I was beginning to wonder if he was ugly and that was why he hid behind me, afraid of being rejected, but in truth I didn't think so. No. It couldn't be that at all. He had seen my picture before and commented that I was a gorgeous woman. Perhaps he didn't look like the picture he sent me.

* * *

I stood there and waited, listening to the rhythmic beating of her heart, tainted with excitement, fear... lust. Mortal emotions are often driven by the most interesting of things. Driven either to a long future or a most untimely demise. When it is I that steps into the picture, it is more often the latter. I wore my 'male facade' tonight, the same skin that I wore when I sent the woman my picture. These features seemed to be most desirable. Meuric was the name I had chosen, similar to my name of birth. Brazenly she moved, lowering her hand to slide against the crux of my thighs, caressing a deadened groin. A soft sound came to her throat, of surprise. Meuric was also well endowed. 

"Must we stay here?" Her voice was husky, low. It reminded me of Mother's before I ripped her vocal cords from her body. She did not need them, after all.

"The crowd disturbs you? It excites me. To think... Mm..." The correct subtle hints were dropped, having her think that I could and would possibly do what I wished to her right on the couch in the middle of the crowd. After all, this place was drawing by the walking hard-ons of society. I set a growled tone to my voice as her fingers caressed a slow stroking glide along my crotch. It did nothing, really; but the act would not be properly set if I had no reaction.

"No... no. But I..." she was grasping for straws, trying to figure out some way to make me agree with her to take her elsewhere. It was no matter. I had already decided. "..I can barely hear you in here." Ah, the most common of things. I was beginning to get disappointed. Perhaps this hunt would turn out to be not quite as I wished. I would not give up so soon, though. Maybe the lovely would prove to be a most pleasing specimen after all. I lowered my head to the side of her neck, laying a warmed kiss upon the curve of her throat, the press of my tongue feeling the rapidly beating pulse. Vitae tasted much more pleasing when it was tainted with arousal or terror. The amount of adrenaline within gave it such a sweet taste, as well as an indescribable tang.

"You wish to go now?" The words were broken by the faintest trails of tongue's tip along her flesh, bathing a warmth of evenly paced breaths.

* * *

My heart was in my throat by time he spoke those words. His every touch, that _voice_! It sent tingles from head to toe, back again, and then laid to rest in all the most delicious spots. I squeezed my hand against his groin, and the sound he gave caused my toes to curl. I wanted him, badly. Even if I believed it would hurt. He was no small man to say the least. And I'm not a grand canyon. I could hardly contain the shake in my voice. "Y-yes. We can take my car, if you wish." 

"Perfect," he said. I could feel his smile along the side of my neck. I tried to turn, but his hand held me fast, fisted within my hair. It was driving me mad! Held thus, he proceeded to lead me in the direction of the door, casually weaving around flog-bearing dominants, and leash-in-the-teeth toting submissives. Normally I had precise control of myself, but I couldn't help feeling like one of those men or women, carrying a bit of leather between my jaws. A few had cast glances in our direction, but since there was no nudity or a beating commencing, they looked away, returning to their respective victims for the night. Even when we had gotten outside he didn't let go of my hair, and purposely turned my head in a direction where his profile couldn't be seen.

"Where's your car?" I couldn't speak, and so I only lifted my hand, pointing to the tan suburban that was parked across the lot. Using the hand within my hair he guided me along in the direction of the vehicle, pressing me toward the driver's side. I almost staggered in my step when I felt the warmth of his mouth against the lobe of my ear. The groan that was pulled from my mouth was hardly shielded. I began to wonder what he was thinking. Would he wonder if I was someone who did this often, meeting people offline for what would seem was only sex? That wasn't the only thing I wanted from him. Oh, don't get me wrong - I do, I also wanted to know him, the real him. Not just someone I met time after time online.

"Don't move," he said, but a whisper against my ear. Lifting my hands I placed one against the Suburban while the other dug blindly down into my clutch. Pressing the button that would unlock the doors I heard a tapping upon the side door, and pressed one more button. The slider opened, and he climbed within. Sneaky prick. He wasn't going to let me see him at all. I had to admit that was arousing in itself. Climbing within the large vehicle I settled back, refraining from looking in the rear view mirror. With the engine started and both doors closed I began to drive. Where? I wasn't too sure. The only thing I was sure of was the fact that I was going to need a change of clothes for these ones were just about soaked through.

I tried to look back into the mirror, but it seemed he knew exactly what I was doing, and chastised me each time. I was beginning to become irritated, but couldn't help but be drawn into the intrigue. We drove for a while, going from the coast to a more forested area. We soon came to a gravel road and what looked to be a ranch. "Drive up to the gate," he said. "It will open by itself." I nodded, lost in the sights that surrounded me, the darkness, the looming house off at the end of the gravel road. I thought I saw a dog or two wandering the lot, but I wasn't really sure.

Truthfully... all of this was making me just a bit nervous.


	2. The Seduction

She did as she was told, without question, and without argument. As we approached the garage, it opened just as I said it would, allowing the both of us to be brought into the encasement of wood and steel. I remained in the seat for a time, watching her quietly from behind. Her hands gripped the wheel relentlessly, knuckles white. It took a honed gaze to watch the singular droplet of sweat caress down from the side of her temple, along the outside of her ear, closest to her cheek, and down toward her jaw. Nervousness dripped from her. Wax from a lit candle. And it would not be stemmed. I had no desire to do so. I _wanted_ her to fear me. To fear the unknown. Worry over the decisions she'd made for the evening. Finally I spoke. "You can turn the vehicle off." She flinched faintly, not expecting my voice, even low as it was. With a sheepish grin she turned off the engine and removed the keys to drop them down within her bag. She glanced briefly into the rearview mirror, seeing nothing but my shadowed visage. The scowl that crossed her face was priceless.

"Exit and keep facing forward," I said, barely breathing the words. The game was still going, a game I've played many times before.

"But–..." I interrupted her before she could go on, my tone becoming demanding. "My words are not up for discussion." I could have sworn she trembled. Without further words she opened up the door and stepped out, remaining forward just as I had told her to. Climbing out myself and closing both of the doors I slid my fingers up the nape of her neck, caressing my nails along the length of the hair-laced skin. Delving the digits within, I took a firm grasp and led her to the entrance of my home. Reaching past her I pressed the button for the garage door, making it hiss closed and then shut with a not-so-quiet thump to the ground. With the door already unlocked, I pushed it open and moved her into the hallway.

I could tell that her lust no longer ruled her. No, by now it was fear, curiosity, wonderment that owned her mind. Most of all, she was concerned with her own intelligence. Here she was, meeting someone –myself - for the first time after a long 'relationship' online. The question remained: just how much can a person know about someone they have met online? So many lies stated. So many half truths. Rarely is it that someone tells another everything about them. What they do tell is usually exaggerated, or little white lies. Oh, believe you me, I could always explain to someone that I am a vampire, that I torture and kill men and women for my pleasure, for my experiments, but just how would that be taken? Many would simply laugh, thinking that I am joking, or that I am a fool, or perhaps insane. Insane I might be, though fool... never.

Silently stepping down the length of the hallway, my hand at the small of her back, I smoothed my fingers slowly along the curve of her spine, letting her feel the caress of my fingertips and nails beneath the thin cloth that separated flesh from flesh. Sometimes I wished that I had the ability to heighten such things as emotion - though my fellow Sect-mate was correct; that would do nothing but taint what I do naturally. And I could not have that. Maybe later down the line I will learn, on my own. After all, I have the blood of the Childe of Mekhet within my veins. That is all that it would take. That and plenty of time.

"You have a beautiful home," she finally stated, her breath catching faintly as I took ahold of her shoulder to pause her. Finally light entered the room, flooding the whole of the living area with the dim illumination. She had only seen a bit before, but now she could see the whole scheme of the place: something there is no need to dwell upon; it is minor and insignificant.

"Thank you." Idle conversation, short and meaningless. Truly, I did not care how my home looked, save for the fact that I was hoping mother did not make its appearance any time soon. That would mess up my game too quickly. "Close your eyes." My words were whispered against her ear, a gentle brush of unneeded breath. She trembled within the loose grasp I had upon her shoulder and nodded stiffly. With her eyes closed she turned to me and stood still, very still. I lowered my head, brushing my lips along her own, and then sought out a kiss. Seduction always proved interesting. The approach, the opening, and conversation. Often times the process is ended with two indulging their lusts. Intercourse is always a weakness to humans, and sadly some vampires also. It can be used to buy power, to bribe, and even to kill. Those are just some of the things. A gentle whimper left her lips, especially when I went beyond a chaste kiss. I broke off the embrace once her arms began to lift, and for the first time of the evening I allowed her to look upon me.

She did so, taking in every little nuance of my visage from the arch of my brows down to the slope of my chin. By the way she was holding her breath she found me beautiful. Yes, even men can be beautiful. I would hope so. It took me hours to get this skin to be perfect. Nevertheless, what I sought to do, I succeeded. My fingers danced slowly along her jaw, grazing against the slope of her throat and down toward her clavicle. Her skin was perfect. I wondered if she had tattoos beneath her clothing, or perhaps beauty marks that might have been hidden from prying eyes. I look at her now and one would not recognize her as the same being that I brought in on that night. She is not the same - I made sure of that.

Nevertheless, I motioned her to settle to a sit and upon shaky legs she moved back, thumping down to rest upon the couch. "It feels so good to finally meet you, Meuric." I said nothing, only allowed a slow smile to form across my lips. My eyes remained steady upon her, expressionless, apathetic. A slight shift betrayed the squirming she wanted to do. Predator to prey,that was how I looked upon her. The naiveté of some people surprises me. How could someone trust another person, a stranger that they had never met? After all, that person _could_ be a psychopathic killer.

I have been asked a few questions before. Why do I do these experiments? Quite a simple answer: I enjoy studying the human, and the vampiric, mind; to find out what causes another person to do what they do. Either from fear, lust, anger, or joy - there are hundreds of different emotions. Thousands of different scales. I wish to know each and every one of them.

Which brings me to the question of 'why?' - another question that can be answered easily. To know of how a person feels, how they think, how they act, is to have power over them. To know how to manipulate another, one must learn how to focus on which switches need to be flipped. One cannot know how to properly torture if they do now know which method to use. A person could be tolerant of physical pain, or even be one of those that enjoy such things. Should these types be encountered, one needs to learn how to tap upon mental and emotional pain, and vice versa.

What right do I have to do these things? To place a persons life in my hands? To decide who lives, who dies, and who wishes they were dead? Easy answer yet again. I have _all_ the rights in the world, because I am God. Ah, no, _Reverend_ God, to be precise. Mustn't forget that title, now should I? Perhaps later it will be Templar.

Though I digress. Here I am going off subject again; it tends to be a habit for me. "I want you to meet someone." This brought a bit of a surprise to her face and she looked upon me suspiciously. My smile grew. Even if I had just motioned her to sit, I held my hand out to her. I was growing impatient, you see. This game had been drawn out long enough and I was growing restless. Her warm hand settled within the hold of my own and I curled my fingers against it loosely before roaming off to one of the back rooms. It was a large house, and so I had plenty of space for each of my experiments. Coming to the room I had prepared, I glanced to her then to the door just before I opened it and lead her inside. It was dark, too dark to see one's hand before their face. Closing the door behind me, I locked it securely with a click, then a twist of the key. Reaching over, I clicked on the light and allowed her a moment to adjust to the sudden flood.

The scene was quite a simple one. An X rack sat to one side. Only a few feet away were two wicked-looking hooks dangling from the roof, attached to chains which ran their lines across the roof then to a ring and bolt embedded in the ground. The carpet had been stripped, leaving the concrete bare – or it would have been bare, had I not had it tiled. The floor sloped down in the middle, dipping to a drain that would allow all sorts of fluids to be expelled from the play room. There were only two doors: the one that we had entered, and another one that roamed off to somewhere distant.

There was another in there, a Caucasian male naked and blindfolded. I lowered my mouth to her ear, all the while drawing that almost ever-present syringe from the depths of my jacket pocket. "Let's have a little fun, shall we?" The top struck the floor and she went to pull away, to no avail. I stabbed her efficiently with the syringe and pumped the mild sedative into her body. I let her go then, allowing her to run, though she did not get very far before she collapsed, dazed. While I could deal with her wide awake, I'd rather not have to put up with a struggling mortal.

Going over, I lowered to a crouch, scooping her up to bring her over to the rack. Settling her down to a sit, I let her lean back against my chest as my fingers loosened the buttons of her blouse. The room was incredibly silent, save for the soft breathing coming from the two captives as well as her barely-conscious whimpers. "I'm going to do a little test with you. To find out just what kind of person you really are. I am sure you remember our conversations, about what you would do in certain situations." She answered with a soft whine when my nails traveled a slow caress upon bra-bound flesh. With the softness of her blouse loosened and slid down from her shoulders, I then removed the 'holster,' as it were, leaving her torso bare. The rest of her clothing posed a bit of a problem, but I was able to remove it before she started to come to. Latching her arms above her and legs spread-eagled, I looked down at her, brushing her dark hair from her face. I turned her enough that she could watch what I was going to do. Knowing she was still out of it, I waited.

Meanwhile, I would deal with my other 'toy.'


	3. The Game

_The content below reflects on some issues that some might find bothersome, uncomfortable, or disturbing. The _conversation _of drugs and rape. If you have a problem with this, I warn you not to read this chapter._

* * *

I had once watched a few movies dealing with Hannibal Lector: Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal, Red Dragon. This man was an absolute _genius_. Mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, he was everything a Tzimisce such as I would look for in a prospective childe. I, of course, knew of him before these movies and these books. Truthfully... I am a bit disappointed that his domitor never sired him before his prime. Yes, Hannibal was a ghoul, perhaps even a revenant. Ah, well. Perhaps there would be another sometime. Nevertheless... During one incident he had someone take drugs and cut off his own face; quite similar to something I'd done before, though this was their genitalia. I used these same drugs upon the male I had within my little play room. Poppers I believe they were called; reminded me of party favors that pop and spew out confetti - which would make perfect sense of their nick name. They induced in him a euphoric state, leaving him giddy and, to be truthful, rather annoying.

Side note: No more poppers.

I had melded his mouth shut, mainly because he kept babbling on about his family, something I truly did not wish to know - not at that moment anyway. If this was a completely different situation I would have taken advantage of his state and found out all I could, just to torture him later with the information. There was no need. He was going to die anyway. As for my little female friend, she was still out, but beginning to come to. I stepped over to the male, checking upon his status, only to be greeted with a peal of muffled giggles. I have never heard a man giggle; well, save for Amadeus, but that was an unusual case anyway. Safe to say, men should not giggle. At all. It is perhaps the only thing that can make me shudder. Frightening, really. He was still high, enjoying the sensation as it coursed through veins and brain matter - what was left of it, anyway. Pulling him to his feet, I settled him against the table, letting him lean listlessly. It was a lean that didn't last very long, for the moment my hands left his arm he thumped back upon the table and began laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. I simply shook my head.

My attention was brought back by the faint sound at my flank: my little miss was waking up. I glanced over my shoulder, checking upon her before returning my attention to the male, and drug him further up the table. I could imagine someone looking upon me, noting my precise movements, as if I had done this many times before. In truth... I had. He was strapped to the table, securely. I did not wish my subject to roll around and disrupt not only my thinking, but also what I was doing.

"Wha--what?" was the first thing out of her mouth. Not quite the most intelligent of statements, but it let me know she was almost fully conscious. I stepped over to her bound form and slid my fingers along her skin, feeling its texture once again beneath the caress. Another light sound came from her and she shifted. There is a point between wakefulness and slumber where the senses are stronger, where the mind heightens them, and twists it to what they want to believe. As I drew my hand along the slope of her thigh, upward toward her waist, I began to wonder just what she was thinking about, what she was imagining. With the way her hips shifted, I could guess.

I had once stated, and will now reiterate, that there is a thin line between pleasure and pain. Often people like to push their limits. Or even go past them. Pleasure. Pain. It all goes through the same nerve center. There are many different types of each. At that time she was experiencing the most subtle; a light brush of fingers along certain points that would bring her either closer to being completely awake, or drown her within the depths of sensation. People constantly pay attention to the most obvious spots on a woman's body: her breasts, neck, rear and genitalia. What of the inside of her elbow? That little dip just below the lower lip? Even places as obscure and unorthodox as a kiss to the Achilles Heel can bring pleasure to someone, man or woman. I did not know these spots to be a good lover. Truly, I could not care less about intercourse. I get nothing from it, save for adrenaline-laced blood should I desire to feed. It is all a game to me. The end justifies the means, and if I feel I must accomplish the end I wish by way of 'killer sex' then so be it. I do it to _know_. To learn. To manipulate. To kill. In the end it is always one thing. _To control._ Through control comes the pursuit of power.

Each shift of her hips, each shudder, the flush of her flesh gave me the reactions I sought. Inconspicuous spots met the skilled touch of my fingers, and then I went for the not-so-subtle areas. With the drag of my hand up her inner thigh and its subsequent cupping at their apex she came fully awake with a sharp gasp. "Ah, finally. I was wondering how long it would take before you came to." Ipaused and smiled. "Or simply came."I drew my hand away slightly and she whimpered, slumping back against the table. It took her a few moments to gather her surroundings, and when she was completely aware she looked upon me with fear. This is what I call a changeover, when the body stops betraying the mind and everything that is reality causes minor - or even extreme - shock. I once had a subject go into cardiac arrest when he woke and remembered what I had him do. While it was amusing, I was a bit disappointed that I did not get to see that final light.

"Meuric, please, let me up." Ah, the pleading. Always the pleading. Human emotions vary, and rather quickly. I have noticed that lust can turn to fear, then anger, and then terror all in one minute. Truthfully, the same can happen with Cainites as well. Such as humanesque Camarilla. Though it is quite interesting when I get my hands upon a member of Caine's Sword and they begin spouting blood tears, babbling about how they used to steal cookies from the jar on top of the fridge and urinate in their beds. It is pathetic to see such things from proclaimed strong and dangerous individuals. I tend to put these ones out of their misery quickly before they damage the Sabbat. Strength is what we need. Do I kill them? Oh no, not at all. They're turned into szlachta. The willful ones are broken and sometimes lobotomized. Those particular beasts are too stupid to die. The others are usually bound to me, or those of us in the city. "Why would I want to do such a thing as that?" A lone tear ran down the side of her face and I detachedly watched the crystalline rivulet bathe a path along her skin then disappear into the darkness of her crimson hair. My gaze then flicked back to hers.

"Come now. I have not even done anything yet and you are sobbing. Has it crossed your mind that I am only asserting my dominance by binding you thus?" A gave a dismissive gesture to the table she was tied to, then folded my arms over my chest with a sideward tilt of my head. She didn't say anything; she was too busy trying to take control of her tears and make herself appear strong. Uncaring. Another changeover. "You frightened me for a moment there." I smiled. She was attempting to still her voice, to get rid of the trembling, but could not. I wanted to say she should be frightened, though that would have been so cliché. The demon that binds the helpless victim trying to place fear into them by such simple words. I believe actions speak louder than words. I slid my hand up again between her thighs, fingers delving deep as my thumb kneaded against sensitive nerves. She canted her chin, dragging in a deep, shuddering breath. "Is this what you wanted? What you have waited for, for so long?" From lust, to fear, to semi-control, to lust. And some Cainites wonder why I bother with mortals. They're so deliciously entertaining! Her mind was gone, off in la-la land, taking the Good Ship Lollipop and sailing away. I did not let the wind current take her too far. Again I drew my hand back, slick and glistening with her desire.

"GOD!" It was good that she figured out my name so quickly. "You're torturing me." There was that temptation to assert that I was no where near torturing her, though I maintained my silence. This time it was the sound from my dear male friend that brought her back from that soft wave of comfort. She glanced over after fluttering open her eyes and stiffened with another look up toward me. Considering she was not screaming, I could only guess that she had not seen his flesh-sealed mouth. Excellent, I did not need her to go into hysterics too quickly. I was out of poppers. "What is he doing here?" Still I said nothing, only left my eyes to remain upon her own, watching the flickers of emotion that went past the dark gaze. Her lips faintly parted and she glanced to the male again then back to me. I began to wonder what she was thinking. Could it be she thought that we both were going to have turns with her? And if so, was she beginning to get aroused by that thought? I took in a faint breath, gathering the scents around me with a preternaturally keen sense, heightened further by vampiric abilities. By what I smelled, it was a very good possibility.

"What do you think?" That cold, logical tone came to my voice. Studious of her words, expression and overall body language. She began to speak, but then paused as I brought my hands to my shirt and gave it a sharp upward tug, releasing the bottom half from the line of belt and pants waistline. I then began unbuttoning the cloth from neck down, watching her still, unblinking. She probably did not notice. It did not matter. At these times I did not bother to conceal what I am. Then again, I rarely did, only when it truly mattered. Once the article of clothing was loosened and shrugged off of my shoulders I folded it up and rested it aside. Think what she will, it was so I did not get the expensive cloth dirty. "I... I don't know," she whimpered.I smiled again.

"We had a conversation long ago," I did not touch her as I spoke; I wanted her attention to be fully upon me and not what I was doing, or the sensations rushing through every nerve of her body. With the way she laid there, watching me, I could tell I held her focus. "About justice. You were raped once before, correct?" From lust, to cold fury. Her head nodded, and a slow frown began to form upon her face as she flashed another glance toward the male who was still turned away from her then she looked again to me. One thing I found curious: here she was bound, naked, at my whim and will, yet she was completely and fully taken with the idea. Then again, it could be the simple fact that she knew me. I nodded to her silence then stepped away from her to turn back to my other subject. Laying my hands upon his mouth his lips were brought back to normal. At least he ceased giggling. "I have a choice for you tonight, my little Dominya." Moving around to the other side of the table, putting him between her and me, I looked over to her, taking a hold of the male's shaggy hair. When I turned his head, the expression that crossed her face was priceless.

It was unbridled fury I saw as I revealed to her… her rapist.

"You will decide if you will allow him to touch you again so that he might live and face the justice system of the law. Or I will be your savior, and do anything you wish for me to do to him." This was a moral test. She believed that everyone did things for a reason. Sometimes they let their emotions get the best of them and woke the next morning wondering what caused them to do what they had done the night prior. This was before this man took it upon himself to infect her with his seed. This was a test I have never done before. Would she allow him to do so and try to see just what he would do, if he would refuse? Or would she have me kill him without finding out if he had meant to touch her as he did? Her response somewhat surprised me, even if I was ready for it.

"Le--" her voice caught in a choke, as if the simple thought and words disgusted her. "Let him. I... I can't take vengeance on m--my own. Let jail deal with him." I tilted my head again, waiting to see if she had anything more to say. Pulling her gaze away from the man she looked up at me, smiling a cold smile. "He just might get in spades what he has done to me." In truth, I was hoping she would say that. My expectations of her grew just a bit more with that phrase. I nodded and began removing the binds that held him down. The drug had worked its way slowly from his system, leaving him a bit more conscious of what was going on. As well as what I told him earlier.

When he began to slide off of the table she looked away, closing her eyes tightly. I took this time to force my fingers into his mouth and graft his tongue to the roof of it, just so he could not speak of what I had told him. Quietly, then I spoke. "Remember what I had said. What you do next will speak of your end." In ill-masked terror he looked upon me. He knew what I was, of course. I ensured he did. And he knew what I was capable of. His choice was clear; Take her again and go free from here, yet be victim to the justice system -- goodness knows how many times and ways he would be abused behind bars -- or do not and suffer by my eager hands.

It was all just one... little... game.


	4. The Choice

_The content below reflects on some issues that some might find bothersome, uncomfortable, and/or disturbing. _

_**Warning:** Yes, this chapter can be considered graphic for some. Read at your own risk._

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He glanced from me to her, then back again before moving away from the table. I continued watching him, a promise within my eyes that I will make sure he suffers unbearably before he is killed. The human body, at least for males, tends to lack proper performance when frightened. Now came another test: would he _rise _to the occasion, as it were, or not? He was not completely sober, not yet; I could tell this by the way he moved lethargically to her prone form. Listening to the sounds around her she began to choke on another sob, hearing as well as sensing him nearby. She refused to look upon him. Unfortunate, that. She would have seen the fear on his face as well as the tears growing within his eyes. Perhaps he did not mean to do what he had. My mind briefly wandered, trying to figure out what caused him to do such a thing. A relationship gone wrong? Drunk, drugged, perhaps both? So many possibilities. That train of thought did not last long.

"Just get it over with." The words were stated through gritted teeth and she turned her head away to be looking elsewhere should she open her eyes. That hope of hers was still there, that he would move away and turn himself in to the authorities. That would not be the case, it seemed. I moved my eyes from the back of his head down to his forward-angling arm. The arm shook slowly back and forth as he stroked himself to hardness. It would take time; it's a good thing I am a very patient individual. Stepping up between her spread thighs, he cast another glance toward me, flinching when he noticed the trail of my tongue's tip down the long length of a canine. Safe to say, I was doing well in keeping my forcing of the fear of God ... subtle.

When he placed his hand upon her hip she stiffened, stifling a cry. Her hands tightened, her knuckles becoming white. The whole time I watched quietly, collecting and cataloging everything that passed my sight as well as my ears. Moving around to the side of the table I settled down upon it, facing the two. After crossing my legs and resting an elbow to one, I propped my chin in my hand and let them both feel my abject attention. A sheen of sweat rested upon both of their bodies, making their skin glisten beneath the humming lights of the room. I used to use torches in here, though I found that the flickering light did not allow me to view everything I wished to. "It does not look like he wishes to go to jail." I finally spoke, and my words sent her into a wild release of tears. She began murmuring softly. It sounded as if she was pleading with him, trying to get him to change his mind. He glanced to me again and I narrowed my eyes, making him quickly glance back down to her; well, that or the fact that I had a lone talon raking down the side of my face. Her sobbing heightened to a sudden cry as he entered her harshly.

Once again I must elaborate on how humans work, or how they _should _work. If someone is being attacked, or – in this occasion – taken against one's will by someone who had done so before, they should rightly fear. Their bodies should not respond. Such was not the case here. I am quite sure her little friend found his entry to be rather easy; not only from my earlier manipulations, but from the natural responses of the female's body. And he.. he should rightly fear that he might not leave this room alive, yet he groaned and growled with each thrust. It was as if I was no longer within the room.

Soon enough her reactions became visible, and she slightly began bucking up toward her near-silent rapist. This brought my brow to rise and consider a few things. Often she would speak of being taken, as I mentioned before, past the limits of both pain and pleasure. Such sensation would mock what she was currently feeling. Did she enjoy it when this man lay upon her within the underground parking lot? Could it be possible that she went down in that area on purpose, especially after hearing that two other women were accosted? At first I thought it was stupidity. But then I came to realize that it was desperation. Though why would she be desperate? She was a beautiful woman, arousing to even one such as I.

Well, at least the scent of her blood and fear was.

The coupling did not last very long. He was soon slumped over her body, moaning deeply as he spent the last of himself into her sobbing frame. I tsked faintly, shaking my head as I slid off of the table to go over to the two. Crouching down above her head I smoothed my hands against her brow, sliding away the auburn locks from her face and behind her ears with the gentle caress of a lover. Lightly I pressed the cool touch of my lips to her brow then again to her temple before

I spoke in such a way where she could only hear me: "Has your question been answered? You gave him a chance to face what wrong he had done, and he did it again." I paused in my words as a faint wail came to her throat. "He has no remorse. No pity. Tell me, what would you have me do?" The taste of her sweat stung my tongue as I drifted its tip against the side of her jaw, then brought my eyes up to look upon the man that was trying to catch his breath. "Kill him." It took her a few moments to breathe the words out, but she said it once, then again with strength. "Kill him!"

He sobered up quickly then.

Looking down upon her his own rage built, and he struck her a single time; when went to hit her again he found my hand clinging to his arm and yanking it back, nearly snapping it. I began pulling him away and he struggled, but truly he was no match for me. Perhaps if I was still mortal he would have easily gotten away. That was not the case, though, and he was very unfortunate.

His words came out in nothing but vowels as he tried to tear his tongue from the roof of his mouth but found it utterly impossible. While the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body, it could not compare to the grafting a Tzimisce could do if they were determined to keep someone silent. Taking him by his hair I began to drag him over to where the table was and sending a vicious strike to his stomach to rid the air from his lungs, I found it much easier to do what I wished.

I lifted him, and when I did he heard her gasp in the background. Considering my stature compared to that of this man, I should not have been able to do such a thing so easily. Also, I should have not been able to impale the side of his back upon one of the dangling hooks. The sound of a snapping rib nearly brought a smile to my lips.

Nevertheless, she screamed then: "Meuric, no!"

I laughed faintly then reached back, taking up the other hook to ever-so-slowly embed it into his back near his spine. By the way his body began to sweat, and the way he wavered, he was beginning to go into shock. People think that it is wounds that kill people. Not so. The exact number of wounds that have ever killed a person is zero, zilch, none. Wounds do not kill people; _shock_ kills people. If it was not for the fact that a body goes into complete and irreversible shock when it is beheaded, then it would live until the heart did not get enough oxygen to survive. Insects do not go into shock. That is why when a spider's thorax is removed, or you cut off a roaches head, the body continues on. The same with a chicken; cut off its head and allow it to leave the chopping post, and it continues to move. If there was a way to continue the flow of oxygen and blood without the brain then the body would survive. That is next to impossible with humans, all because of that one single defensive mechanism. Shock.

"No, no. Please, God, _no!_ Don't kill him." Ever so calmly I looked back to her, and she shuddered, pressing against the X beam, staring at me. I suppose she then knew that she was not dealing with some normal person.

"You just told me to," I stated calmly, as if speaking to a child. "If you did not want me to, then why did you say it?"

"I... I didn't know you were going to!"

A common defense. People should learn to say what they mean and mean what they say. Then I am sure that the world would be a much better place. That is why I enjoy the Sabbat. You know automatically that someone is going to try to kill you, and thus you are always on your guard. With the Camarilla... well, no. I will not go into that right now.

"You told me to." I restated as I stepped in her direction. It seemed she was now wishing those boards would swallow her whole. There must have been something in the way I looked at her, the way I moved, for a whispered breath of sound came to her lips. "Who are you?" I chuckled again and moved to where the male was once standing then lowered down while sliding my hands up the lengths of her thighs for them to be clasped to her hips.

The way I looked upon her must have made her uncomfortable, especially when I took time to study the mixture of both male and female excretion with a quiet fascination. I then looked up. "Not 'who.' I think 'what' would be a better question." She went to say something else, but it was gone in a sharp gasp and upward arch of her body as my canines sank into her inner thigh. I knew then why she was desperate. The feeding did not last very long, only a moment. Long enough to taste her blood. It was tainted.

I waited long enough for her to climb out of her hysteria while I spat the blood to the floor with a grimace. I knew then I would have to purge my system later that night, or end up having the chance of being a carrier. It was a slim chance, though I rather keep my blood pure.

People went through many forms of acceptance when they are faced with something they believed to be a myth. She chose panic, but then she calmed down enough to a point where I could speak to her. "You would rather have him suffer through a long death, instead of a short one? What makes you better than him in that aspect? Now it is you that is the rapist. Of his life."

One had to know how to play with a mouse, smacking it up against a garage, letting it crawl a bit before smacking it again with a resounding thump. My words hit hard, and she began crying once more. That was answer enough for me and I moved back over to the hanging male.

Mother needed a new face lift anyway.


	5. The Rebirth

_The content below projects some images that some might find bothersome, uncomfortable, and/or disturbing. Reader discretion is advised. Muhaha..

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The afflicted moan that came from the beast was a pathetic one. Flesh quivered in the midst of its own bile and viscera; this job was definitely not a clean one. Staccato drops of blood struck the floor in a patterned rhythm, almost matching the clipping sound of scissors and the shred of flesh which was soon followed by the heavy weight of the meaty skin hitting a metallic bowl. The table the thing remained upon was stained, too, within this dark liquid. A muffled squeal came from Mother as I must have torn out something quite useful.

Softly I tsked while skillful hands grafted the torn artery closed. My arm raised, and hand brushed across my brow, I barely noticed the thick taint of vitae that smeared against my forehead. As a taste test I lowered my hand, lapping at the crimson-stained digits as I yanked against a flaccid piece of flesh with the other. A soft gurgling whimper came from Mother and I could not help but tsk in disappointment. "Silence yourself, Mother," I cooed to her. "It does not hurt that badly."

What you don't know can't hurt you. Or can it? Obviously this is the case with our friend Lianna, the young female I met online some time ago. Soon enough the form will be left behind for others to see. For now... recycling time, but it wouldn't be her. Not yet. There was another there, the male. The crystalline beads of saline that littered his pale face glittered horrifically in the low light as his body lightly swung this way and that, an unnerving twitch of pain given every so often.

What happened?

It seemed nothing was keeping him alive yet he knew he was there. He knew it was real. Everything was so painful and nothing before had ever been such. He couldn't move. He couldn't see. He wasn't even sure he could feel, his nerves under shock from the trials he had undergone. All he could do was think, and they were thoughts I had privy to. But that same penalizing hint of his state hit him over and over: he would be dead soon, either from shock, or by however I, the monster, chose. There was no sense in hoping. He prayed it would be quick. I would not give him that easy release.

Passing through my doorway I neared the pathetic being. He heard me pause, I know he did, and he stiffened with a clench of his jaw. Just how long had this little game been going on? How much longer would he survive? My work was only halfway complete but knowing myself, I would suddenly come up with another idea for this specimen. I had him strung up on the meat hooks used for the beef, metaphorically degrading, comparing kine to that of cattle or swine while my precious female laid bound still upon the X beam. She watched on in a mix of horror, disgust, and redemption.

The taste that flooded into his mouth was like acid, its burn against his tongue. He couldn't deny it though, no matter how he tried, he couldn't spit it back out, for one easy reason: I sealed his mouth after filling it up. Each twitch of his frame raked his spine against one of the hooks. Or was it the hook that caused the twitching in the first place? He howled in muffled agony as my fingers seared through his flesh, removing what was needed, and carelessly shoving back what I didn't want. I then turned my gaze to the female, casually looking over the form before reaching over to dance my fingers against the dead flesh. The male would remain upon the hooks for a time; at least until I decided I needed something else.

After stripping the flesh from his arm, and a good hunk of muscle, I left him to enter the other room of the house, one still in dire need of a makeover. Within the other room my Mother waited. Still it was incomplete; I needed more parts. I stroked bare fingers against the skeletal jaw of the thing almost lovingly before the ghoul lifted it's . . . arm? Hard to say what that was. Nonetheless, with an intense look of concentration upon my blood tainted visage I added the new layer of muscle upon the limb. With the skill of a surgeon I manipulated the sinew and flesh within its proper place. Or what seemed proper to me.

Almost lifelessly the strange-colored bulbous eyes of the creature watched its Owner work carefully upon its form. Its downward jutting lampreyesque maw nudged my elbow, almost as if pleading for the 'kind' stroke of my hand against its hairless flesh. I grunted as that slight nudge almost caused me to make a mistake. And so with a growl I struck the bony ridge of jaw with my hand, harshly. Within obeisance the thing groaned and lay back placidly against the table. I nodded once, sharply, and went back to slicing my fingers against the twitching flesh. Sliding the stolen flesh carefully over the layered muscle, I tilted my head then shook it. It wasn't enough, not quite yet.

Exiting the room I pushed the door closed, letting it snap shut behind me. Slowly I drew my gaze over Jacob as he wept. He actually wept and this disgusted me even more. "Save your tears for someone who will show pity," I told him. "You did not care for her tears when you took her, now did you?" Lifting my hands over his eyes I sealed the lids of his eyes closed. After ensuring he couldn't see anything I nodded and slid my hands against his form. Resting a cold smirk across my lips I glanced down, below his waistline.

"Oh. My. God." I heard her state behind me.

His screams muffled against the flap of skin grafted to his face, keeping his lips sealed as I ripped off that particular section of flesh. Studying it with a critic's eye I tilted my head then with a shrug I tossed it over my shoulder, letting it flop down a few feet from the rack. I heard her vomiting. That is one part I did not need. I had no plans to make Mother into _Father_. Not yet at least. I then found my hands sliding along his thighs, carefully peeling back the thick skin found there. From thigh to knee the muscle below was exposed. Poor unfortunate soul must have felt he could not last much longer, but he did. I made sure of it. Vampiric blood always had a wonderful effect upon the body of a mortal. Not only that, but I ensured to seal off any gaping veins and major arteries so he would not bleed to death. Momentarily I glanced over toward the female, noting that she was coming to, slowly but surely. Perhaps this time she would not puke upon noticing the hanging form.

With the thick pieces of flesh in my hands I grazed my gaze over the exposed bone of the male's leg, stained to a scarlet hue by his life's essence. Uncaring about the rivulets of blood I left upon the floor while I walked I returned to Mother's side. Appraisingly I looked over the ghoul's body, deciding where I should place these extra portions of flesh. Then upon finding a perfect spot the side of 'her' leg was cut open and the bone below exposed just before I glided the stolen meat into the split portion. Grafting it closed I smiled to myself, then let a smirk cross over my lips noticing the puppy-dog look Mother was giving me.

"Excellent. Mother, you are turning out... wonderfully." I decided she needed just a bit of praise. 'She' took to it well and gave a guttural grunt. It was then when I realized that she needed new vocal cords. Giving a soft pat to its misshapen head I turned and moved back to the main den of the building. Glancing between the female and the male I tapped a long bloodied nail against a front tooth, attempting to make a decision. Nodding once I moved over to the piece of meat once known as Jacob.

Poor man still hung there, twitching, his shoulders shaking with muffled sobs; the pain had to be simply unbearable. Though no matter how much he tried to give up, he couldn't just simply up and die. He wanted to use his arms, to wrap his hands around my throat and choke the very breath from my body, I would wager. A shame I do not breathe. I gave a soft sound, comforting and soothing, to the mutilated form as my fingers trailed up his throat. Feeling where the cords were I sliced my fingers through the flesh to rob him of speech. Or to be more precise, of that particular 'organ', if you wish to call it that.

Unfortunately, this caused him to bleed profusely. I did not wish him to die, not without me seeing that final light, and so lifting my hand the lids were opened, allowing him to see the being that has stolen his life from him. He thrashed, trying to groan, but blood ended up pouring from the wounds as well as his nose since it couldn't escape from his mouth. He was like a frightened animal. Confused as well. A look crossed his face, one I had seen so many times before, where they believe this must all be some dream, that they would wake from this sleep. He would sleep, yes. But it would be a slumber from which he would never wake.

I returned to the room once more and stepped over to the recumbent beast. Raking my fingers gingerly against its throat, I began peeling layer by layer, as well as the muscle. Once the needed depth was gained and blood stemmed off, I formed the throat column and placed the cords within. I began to hope that the ghoul would be able to speak in more than just a series of grunts and grumbles. It would take a while for the vocal capabilities to return, but I am nothing if not patient. A grin quirked the corner of my mouth and I stepped back, motioning Mother to climb down from the table once the removed flesh was placed back. Tab A into slot B. Mother lifted, slowly but surely, and slid off of the table to land with a fleshy thump of clawed feet upon the damp floor.

What stood before me was completely hairless, with flesh that had patches ranging from a putrid green to the color of a healing bruise. The color would soon fade after the muscles settled. Her smooth skin would be the hue of tanned flesh. Bulbous eyes, settled at the sides of her head, giving her a range of vision such that she could even look behind her. The iris the hue of blood, tainted by a sickly yellow-green film that is the cornea, slit to give feline like precision when it came to seeing in the dark. Her neck is grotesquely bent, the vertebrae lined horizontally, not vertical as is supposed to be 'natural'. The neck jutted out straight from the shoulders, parallel to the ground; this bizarre design allowed it the ability to bend the neck straight down, so as to be perched from above, looking directly below at passing prey. Joints were placed so that this design wouldn't inhibit her mobility in looking up, or raising her head. With her long neck horizontal to the ground, she could easily tilt her head back to look up just in case of an air attack.

Her ears were cupped more so than an animal's, so long-distance sounds could be heard without problem. There is no apparent nose upon the oddly shaped head, though to the observant eye there are two small orifices where neck meets head, and two more orifices on the underside of her 'chin' -- which of these is may be the olfactory is something at which one can only guess. At first no mouth is seen, but once the gritty, guttural voice is heard it becomes clear there is a mouth upon this beast; but by the time a person sees the gaping hole lined with jagged teeth at the base of the neck, it's usually the end of that person's life. The skull has oddly sharp angles to it; the cranial plates have been curved upward toward the back and sloped sharply downward toward the front, giving her head a very peculiar shape. The back of her cranium, where the plates meet, crests upward to form a small, pointed tip that accentuates the upward curve of the cranium. The 'chin' is a two-inch long "needle point" of bone that accentuates the downward curve of the face. The skin is thin and pulled especially tight on her head, adding to the monstrous, intimidating and bizarre image.

The torso has been altered, but not so much in an alien manner, more just corruption of the original design. The ribs and sternum are most notable. Each rib is nearly five inches thick of solid bone, elongated and with a much more circular curve; the sternum is almost twice as wide. The effect of these alterations gives her a literal barrel chest, very round and extremely outward in shape. The stomach is very trim. Tenuous muscles are clearly defined beneath the taut flesh, but rather than a 'six-pack' there are only two very long abdominal muscles visible, hinting at the fact that I've reformed or stretched various muscles throughout her body to allow for what might seem impossible positioning or maneuvers. All four limbs have been lengthened, which gives an intimidating appearance when it comes to the creature walking.

Despite her girth, her stride is amazingly pantheresque.

Each limb now has what appears at first to be an extra joint, but in reality I've simply taken the small space between ankle/foot, wrist/hand and lengthened the connecting bone nearly six inches for all four places. With limbs so long, and with the bones thickened mildly to give them the strength to handle the pressure of falls without damage, muscles and form built to stretch, grip and maintain odd positions, the creature is literally designed to prowl rafters and high ground, dropping upon intruders or prey from above and then grappling the opponent by wrapping her appendages around their body. What comes next only the creature would know. Most likely the captured would meet its end by the lamprey-type mouth.

I already had an idea of who I might like the first capturetobe. "Come mother," I stated, motioning her to follow me as I roamed into the other room. "Time for you to meet someone."


	6. The End

Some say that the indomitable Marquis de Sade knew all there is to know of methods of more... painful persuasion. I would have to disagree. He limited himself in more ways than one. Limitation does now allow one to express one's genius. Being the genius that I am, I, of course, leave myself open to any, and all, methods. I do not live only by torture, though. No, there is much more to my existence than the 'simple' pleasure of hearing a lover's gasp of pain, or viewing what I like to call that 'dying light' within their eyes.

As I have stressed before; mental manipulation, angst, finding ones deepest, darkest secrets... it is these small things that allow one to take control of another. To dominate their very thoughts and actions. Blackmail is a lovely thing, especially when you have taken more than they can handle. While I could have the ability to probe their minds, rape their thoughts for every one of my dirty little needs, I chose not to. It would be much too easy, and truly... what fun is there in doing things with ease? Forgive me; but I would rather have the virgin, hesitant and leery, than the whore, ready and willing.

Difficulty can be _so _much more rewarding.

Yes, I do realize I am undead, vampire, 'Nosferatu', God... whatever title you choose to place upon me. So why do I speak of sex? Is that not what most, if not everything, boils down to? Is that not human nature? Ah, yes... Do not forget; I am _not _human. I do understand, and grasp this concept quite well. But, I am afraid you miss my point. It is much easier to speak to another when concerning such things as mental, physical, spiritual and emotional tampering if I use terms that have to deal with sating one's libido. Sad? Yes, I know. Nevertheless, the 'evil' truth is there. I simply like to make it more clear and exposed for everyone. Speaking of exposed... let me get back to my topic.

The first meeting between my mother and my plaything did not go very well. She went into instant hysteria and it took a good amount of time for her screaming to stop. Do not get me wrong; like almost every Tzimisce, I enjoyed every single moment of it. I might be anathema in some ways, but not all. Mother had the most interesting expression upon – I shall call it 'her' to avoid confusion – upon her face. If one truly wished to call the down-turned, lamprey-type mouth expressive. I could not help but chuckle.

What the female might have stated is not important at this time; I probably could not remember even if I tried. There was fear there, of course; would you not be afraid coming face to face with a szlachta? If you were human, that is. I am a patient Cainite, and so I waited for her to gain control of herself while I watched on, detached from her apparent emotional...state.

"What do you feel," I recall asking her. I think my voice caught her off guard for she flinched within the bindings and turned her wide, tear-streaked eyes toward me.

"What!"

I sighed then, for I hate repeating myself. But I did so, for the sake of brevity. Unfortunately that did not help any, for she still stalled, staring at Mother as she did so. Now that I think about it, I do not think the fact that Mother was giving her a hungry stare was doing anything to help. Either way, she was dismissed.

"I- I'm afraid."

To this I smiled.

_Afraid._ Most likely of the unknown. What people fail to understand is that we must challenge our preconceptions, or they will challenge us. Life consists of nothing but change. If we wish to live rather than simply 'endure' or 'survive', then we need to become more accepting and flexible in our concepts and the formation of them. These changes consists of intended and unintended conditions, as well as the predictable and unpredictable.

For humanity to be tolerable to the alternating fluidity of circumstance, the society in whole must learn that encountering the unknown is wholly inevitable; that there is no sense in fearing or avoided. In contrast, these things should be sought for and embraced.

We – and I mean Kine and Cainite alike – must enable ourselves to remain receptive to new and varied ideas. It is the only way one can have better experience and understanding when change comes in its diverse forms and functions.

Those who are generally skeptical and dismissive of the unconventional tend to fear the unknown, because it conflicts with their current comprehension of reality, and interferes with their sense of security found in the familiar. Once they have reached a particular conclusion or understanding about how they think reality operates, this type of person is reluctant or resistant to the consideration of alternate possibilities to the contrary.

But, certainty closes the mind to possibility, making people who are unreceptive to new ideas and methods inflexible and unadaptable to changing circumstances and conditions. And if there is anything we can be relatively certain about, it is that life is change.

Indeed, these kinds of people are unprepared and unequipped to deal with reality, preferring to accept instead their own preconceived delusions. It is a bit of a paradox of human habit that we tend to be both curious and cautious of that which is hidden. For example, most Christians profess a belief in the Second Coming ... that Jesus is destined to return. Yet, if these same individuals were to encounter someone claiming to be Jesus, they would automatically be inclined not to believe him, a situation that is equally hypocritical and ironic.

Unfortunately, we reside in an environment of arbitrary disbelief, weighted by the burden of proof. How sad it would be for us all if Jesus were to appear and be ignored or mocked, or even condemned again.

Truly...it would not surprise me in the _least_.

Suppose someone claimed that they were an extraterrestrial, or even a supernatural being. What degree of evidence would be adequate for the skeptical among us? Why be so unwilling to believe that the extraordinary is not only possible...but likely? Further evidence of the skeptic mentality prevalent in mainstream society is illustrated in the common and casual disregard toward the possibility, actually a probability, of preternatural life forms...on Earth or abroad.

It is the ultimate in human ego, pride and vanity to think that we are alone in this vast universe, or that there are no wonders to behold. _Improbable_ has become confused with _impossible_. Another example would be our popularly negative and dismissive attitude regarding psychics and psionics, and the concept of spirituality in general. Without sufficient proof beyond a reasonable doubt, a proposition is not deemed truth.

But terms of 'sufficient' and 'reasonable' tend to be subjective and malleable to whim and bias.

Even if or when convincing and abundant proof is acquired, many people are hesitant or reluctant to believe and accept as true something which conflicts with their existing paradigm. They resist change. The only thing that tends to be constant...

Though...that is a rabbit I will chase again another time.

Nevertheless, she had no choice but to accept what was real, different, or strange. After all, she had one of those impossible – or improbable – beings looking down at her at that moment. She lay there, of course, her form bared, spread-eagled, as it were, still damp with her taint as well as her two-time rapist. Who, by the way, was still hanging within the same room.

The rhythmic dripping of blood provided a nice backdrop and I was reluctant to have it cease. I closed my eyes, mingling that drip-drip-drip rapport and the steady, but swift, pants of her breath through her lungs, and grimaced when the natural music was broken by a gentle sob. Oh dear, she was crying again. I sighed.

"Wh-what will you do with me?" she asked between wracking chokes and I looked down upon her sweat laced face with a curious tilt of my head.

"Have I not done enough? Do you want more, then?" A ragged groan came from the other room and I grunted, turning my attention to the creature. "Oh, do hush, mother. I was not speaking with you." When I looked back the prize was staring at me with little to no understanding.

I was willing to be it was more the latter than the former.

"Why, if you were not screaming so much you would have been properly introduced. I daresay that it was quite rude and you might have hurt her feelings." As if I cared about the szlachta's emotions.

She made a soft noise in the back of her throat that I would have likened to the pained keen of a wounded animal.

"I have not decided what I will do with you," I answered honestly. It was true. For once I had not thought past the game, and something stilled my hand with simply getting rid of her once and for all. No, something was stirring in the back of my mind. Something that wanted to come forth and have me play another little game with her. By time she took her next breath, I was smiling. My decision was made.

"I will let you live."

Again she placed a vapid, wide-eyed stare upon me and when I moved closer to her, she sank against the beams, as if trying to go right through them. The thought was amusing enough. I moved across the room, exiting through the door that would take me to the observation chamber. There was no need for me to watch her, I could tell that I had been privy to most of her responses over the night. No, I went in there to prepare a concoction that would have her rest.

When I returned and she saw the syringe, she began tugging upon the binds, babbling pleas. If it was in my nature to roll my eyes, I would have. Did I not tell her that she would live? I suppose she did not believe me. Then again...would _you _believe a _thing _that had just ripped apart someone before your eyes? Mmno. I thought not.

"Keep still," I ordered sharply and she whimpered, turning her face away from me. Stopping near where she lay, I lowered my hand, trailing the cool touch of my fingers along her jaw until I could take a hold of her chin. Clasping firmly, I turned her face to look up at me. Coolly I looked into her eyes, and I do believe she was appalled to note that my own held nothing.

When her chin was released I tapped the side of the syringe, ignoring her questions of its contents as I took a hold of her arm firmly, cutting off most of her circulation. Dipping the needle into her skin and piercing a vein, I slowly worked the anesthetic into her veins. I did not need her completely unconscious, not yet. I still had some things to say to her.

LINEBREAK

It was close to three in the morning when I dropped her off at the club, placing her back within her car where she would groggily wake and undoubtedly wonder if it was all a dream. Cleaned up, dressed and left with a forced intoxication, there would be little to no evidence that she had left the grounds.

What, exactly, was in my mind when I had let her leave my haven – something that has never been done before?

It is quite simple, you see. She was now my two-legged guinea pig.

Her body had not been the only thing wiped clean. Her mind, too, was like my slate and I carefully dabbed away all of our meeting save for one thing; the fact that she had given the order for someone's death.

Who – she did not know.

Why – she did not know that either.

When – same answer.

She would forever have that guilt on her conscious, yet have no idea why it was there.

I watched her go through her usual routine every night, and during the daylight hours when it was an impossibility for me to go out unless I wished to spontaneously combust into flames, I had one of my pets watch over her. Her demeanor took a steady decline and within a week she was seeking out a psychiatrist to find if she was going crazy.

Unfortunately, the dear Doctor would not have been able to assist her. Undoubtedly he was just as confused when he found out that his patient was a normal, everyday individual with an insecurity and worry that had nothing to do with her past. She was not another who had been abused or neglected, or had some other random experiences as a child that lead to this change.

How long would she carry on with this guilt, I had wondered? How long before it ate at her and she went absolutely mad from her lack of understanding?

Not long enough.

What was happening inside of her began to take a physical manifestation; she had bags under her eyes from the inability to sleep, she jumped at the first sign of a siren, as if she expected the authorities to take her away at any minute. She had become so paranoid that she quit her job and rarely, if ever, left the house.

This did not surprise me in the least. While the woman seemed strong, especially within her little black-latex world, in her mind she was no more than a child using what strengths she had to distract others from her insecurities.

Misdirection is one of society's greatest tricks.

My projects life was cut drastically short. Literally _cut_. Within a warm bath she sawed through her arms until the tub water was as red as her hair – well, redder in my humble opinion. I was almost disappointed for I wanted to see just how rapidly her mind would twist, inspired by some guilt that she could not understand.

Perhaps next time I will try this test again, though I will keep the subject within my own home, and away from all sharp objects.

After all, blood is rather hard to get out of the carpets.

* * *

_And that's it, Ladies and Gents. Stay tuned for more from dear Meuric and his twisted adventures. _

Here's a thanks to those that read and could stomach his...games. Thanks!


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